


To Walk the Maze

by lothkitten



Series: Woodhurst Manor [4]
Category: Woodhurst Manor (original fiction)
Genre: M/M, Outdoor Sex, Rimming, Victorian, butler/master, too much Victorian Lit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:45:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lothkitten/pseuds/lothkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one of Lady Carrington's evening garden balls becomes far too tedious, Dalton provides much needed distraction for his master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Walk the Maze

Warmth lazed through the evening air as Dalton pressed his mouth against the nape of Peter's neck. The grand maze that fanned out from the rose gardens had always been a bothersome place to Peter - he would wander and get lost and as a child he'd been far too short to see over the edges of the maze-bushes, even after climbing onto the stone benches one sometimes found inside. But now he was reevaluating his opinion, for the maze was close enough to the outdoor party that the music could still be heard, but far away enough, and big enough, that most would not seek out the inner reaches of the maze's heart - and if they did the reason was likely to be the selfsame reason that Peter and Dalton were there. 

The waltz beat its sweet rhythm through Peter's head as they moved together, Peter's back to Dalton's front and Dalton's strong arms holding Peter in such a way that they could still dance, but he could not turn around or easily free himself. Not that he wished to, he was more than perfectly content to sway and step to the distant melody while pressed against Dalton's body as he was. The slow kisses against his skin were a heavenly heat, and the hand Dalton kept slipping down the front of his suit were an increasingly endless torture.

"Andrei?" Peter asked, his voice a quiet blur of happiness and want.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you agreed to come out here with me, I didn't think at first you would." 

"It was a matter of making sure we would not be caught, not a matter of if I wished to or not." Dalton nipped lightly at Peter's skin, licked it, and blew against it, causing him to shiver and press back against him.

"Still... the party was getting intolerable, and all those girls were wanting to dance, and mummy was giving me /looks/, and then I saw you and it felt as if the rest of the party could be damned for all I cared so long as I was able to dance with you." Peter turned his head, his lips pouted up for a kiss, which he got: slick slidings of Dalton's tongue against his lips, and teeth and nips and licks and then Dalton began ravishing his mouth with deep noises that were half-way twixt a purr and a groan.

Peter whimpered in shock when Dalton began humming into his mouth, and with the fast-paced notes he changed their movements to something rather wild and sensual. He bent them together at the waist, back and forth, and half-dragged Peter along with him, spinning him in his arms and returning to kissing him as soon as he had his hands dug into Peter's ass through the thin fabric of his summer-weight dress pants. Peter wondered fleetingly if this was a dance from Dalton's childhood or something he'd learned later in life, but he had little chance more to think before he found himself lifted and perched on the back of a high stone bench with Dalton's hands encouraging his legs to wrap around his valet's waist. 

The pressure of Dalton's girth against his through their clothing was just enough and far too much all at the same time. He wanted, wanted more, but Dalton humming against his neck as he bit and soothed the marks with his tongue was so achingly perfect that no matter how much he wished for his lover to be sheathed inside him he could hardly bear the thought of anything being different from what it was that very second. 

"Meleğim," Dalton's voice was dark, a swath of velvet sound to Peter's ears, "Do you trust me?"

"Implicitly." Peter replied without hesitating.

"Good." Dalton purred, reaching to lift Peter back down to the ground, undoing his pants and pushing them almost roughly out of the way down about his knees. He helped Peter to bend over the bench so that his ass was high in the air. "Now close your eyes, Meleğim, and do not make too much noise or I shall have to use your handkerchief to stop up your mouth."

Peter whined, gasping a little, but obeyed. "Yes... yes Andrei. My eyes are closed now."

"Good Meleğim, my beautiful altın melek."

There was nothing for a moment but the sound of rustling fabric, which Peter assumed was Dalton removing his own pants, but then he could hear Dalton kneeling, and he was confused for a moment, before he felt Dalton's fingers part his ass and then a warm, wet pressure against his entrance caused him to bite his cheek against the pleasured moan he wished to release. Dalton was /licking/ him, was doing filthy, delicious things to him with his tongue. He had been wholly unprepared for that, but he was even more shocked when Dalton resumed his haunting song, directly against Peter’s skin. He bit and licked at the soft skin, the hummed music vibrating with each touch, until the music seemed almost to be poured into Peter’s body when Dalton’s tongue pushed inside of him.

Peter’s hand flew to his mouth to stop the keening his throat threatened to make, and if it had not been for Dalton’s hands steadying his hips, he would have rutted back against him wildly. As much as he loved nothing more than when Dalton’s gorgeous cock was filling him wholly, this was a whole other sort of perfection, one that brought with it the complete inability to think of aught but the sensations that seemed designed to thread through his body directly to his prick, which was now almost uncomfortably pressed against the chill stone of the bench.

“Do you like this, Meleğim? Do you like me inside like this?” came Dalton’s voice as he kissed his way along Peter’s ass and then dove back inside again.

Peter pulled back his hand from his mouth, his words leaving his body in a desperate rush. “Oh... oh /yes/... yes Andrei... oh please... gods that is heaven, just... glorious... Andrei I beg you... please do not stop...”

“I could not even if I wished to - your taste, as always, is ambrosia to me.” Dalton thrust his tongue inside again, over and over until Peter realised he was being allowed to move back against him with little short needful thrusts. And then Dalton was gone, his hands, his tongue, and Peter thrust back again, seeking him.

“So eager,” Dalton’s voice teased, before there was a wet noise that Peter realised was Dalton slicking himself with his own spit, and then Peter was being filled ever so slowly, an exquisite fullness that threatened to tumble him into the heights from the inward movement alone.

“Oh... /fuck/ me,” Peter breathed, a prayer, a pleading, and Dalton’s smirk was almost audible.

“I shall, my gorgeous one, I shall.”

And the fingers digging into his hips became a vice, and Dalton’s hips snapped against Peter’s ass in such a way as to drive Dalton inside of him as deeply as he could fit. Hand forgotten, Peter moaned, shuddering from his head to his toes as he arched to meet the slow but forceful thrusts he was being given. The slide was not as easy as when they were home and Dalton could use oil, but the friction added a whole separate level to each movement, and soon Peter was lost to sensation as Dalton reached and found his charge’s cock and began to fist it in time with his filling of him. 

Considering how long Dalton had been teasing him whilst they danced, their coupling seemed to go on for drawn out, heavenly hours. Each time Peter drew close, Dalton would slow his movements and hold him back, hold them back together until he would take him again with consummate force. And then his pace changed and Peter knew that Dalton, himself, was close. So Peter writhed back, his words wild and needy, his body clenching tight, drawing Dalton in until he released himself inside, with his teeth in the back of Peter’s neck.

When Peter drifted back into Dalton’s arms, it was to Dalton kissing over his face with soft kisses. He had never done that before, to Peter’s knowledge, and it made a warmth fire up in his chest at the sweetness. They were seated on the bench, with Peter clasped to Dalton’s chest.

“You went away from me,” Dalton’s voice was almost sheepish.

Peter smiled and kissed him, languorously. “Mmmmm... floating... such pleasures are not for mere mortals.”

Dalton’s soft laugh was a breath against Peter’s cheek. “Angels can never ‘mere mortals’ be, Meleğim,” he replied. But they can fall, he thought.


End file.
